


Breakfast Blues

by Rosalindfan



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosalindfan/pseuds/Rosalindfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast time in the Foyle household.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast Blues

January 1938

There had been no conversation at the breakfast table that morning, just as there had been no conversation any morning for the previous two weeks, at least not until the figure of the postman had been seen passing by on the opposite side of the road on his way back into town. Then the two of them would chat about their plans for the day, what to have for a meal that evening along with the usual complaints of unwashed rugby kit or mysteriously moved paperwork. On several occasions this routine had been interrupted by the metallic sound of something being pushed through the letterbox. Then their eyes would meet and the older man would incline his head, indicating that the younger should fetch the aforementioned post. The dark-haired young man would stand and run his hand through his hair, before entering the narrow hallway and reaching for any envelopes with trembling hand. Before today those envelopes would be transported back to the table and slapped down in front of the shirt-sleeved man finishing his toast and tea.

Today the younger Foyle returned and stood silently by the elder Foyle’s chair. Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle looked up warily.

“Is that it?” he asked with more calm than he felt.

“It is,” his son, Andrew, answered.

The elder Foyle chewed on his bottom lip as his son turned the white envelope over and scrutinised every mark, printed or written, upon it.

“You going to open it then?” Foyle enquired, eyes on his plate.

The envelope appeared in his line of vision. 

“You do it, Dad,” Andrew said, “please?”

“Not addressed to me,” his father stated, leaving the offending letter next to his crumb-strewn plate and standing up.

Andrew watched as Foyle straightened his tie and took his jacket from the back of an easy chair.

“I can’t do it, Dad,” he said, his eyes fixed on his father’s face.

“Don’t see why not,” Foyle’s eyebrows rose, “you did the exam and the interview yourself. Didn’t need any help with those, did you?”

“Nno,” Andrew admitted, “but you’re the one who’s paying.”

“May not have to,” Foyle replied, putting on the jacket, “not if the scholarship comes through. But if I do, I’d like to know what I’m paying for.”

He nodded significantly at the abandoned envelope. 

“Are you sure about this, Dad? Even if it does come through, there’ll still be all kinds of things that’ll need buying.” Andrew scuffed his slippered feet on the carpet. 

“Better find out then, so I can start economising,” Foyle took his hat from the hallway hat-stand and returned to the room.

Andrew sighed. “What if I haven’t got it, Dad? You’ve already forked out for me to go up there, for the…”

“Andrew!” Foyle’s voice cut over his son’s. “Open the damned letter, will you, son.”

His hands moved around the rim of his trilby, the fabric smooth under his fingertips.

The young man snatched up the envelope and tore the top open. Slowly he pulled the thick paper from its covering, his eyes on Foyle’s face as he did so. He held the folded document as he put the envelope back on the table.

Foyle was reminded of Andrew’s face the first time Rosalind had taken their young son to the dentist; fearful of the unknown, whilst desperately wanting to sit in the ‘magic moving chair’ he’d heard so much about. He stepped towards the young man.

“Come on, son,” he said softly, “this old ticker can’t take the strain much longer.”

Andrew unfolded the paper and began to read. Watching his eyes track the words, Foyle searched for any clue of the contents. The seconds passed and his heart sank at the thought of the overwhelming disappointment his son must be feeling. Andrew’s lips pressed together and his brow furrowed. Foyle closed his eyes, admitting his own distress at the news.

Then the paper was fluttering to the floor as his son’s arms crushed him in a rough hug, his laughter loud in Foyle’s ear.

“I did it, Dad!” he exclaimed, thumping Foyle on the back. “I got in!”

He released his father, picked up the letter and held it out for his inspection. The words danced in Foyle’s vision.

‘...pleased to offer you a place… conditional on examination results... Brasenose College, Radcliffe Square…Michaelmas term Sunday 3rd October ...’

Foyle’s throat tightened as he held out his hand to a now beaming Andrew.

“Congratulations, son,” he managed, “Your mum would have been so proud. You did it.”

Andrew took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly.

“No, Dad,” he said, his hand still clasping Foyle’s,” we did it. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

A knock sounded at the front door. Foyle cleared his throat.

“Just ask Constable Fisher to give me a minute, will you,” he asked hoarsely as he fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief.

**Author's Note:**

> The subject of Andrew's studies is never mentioned in canon. Despite his literary leanings (poetry in 'All Clear') he must have had a good grounding for pilot training so I went for engineering which has a physics element which would have been useful, even though I didn't specify it in the piece.  
> A bit of research about engineering in 1930's Oxford led me to Richard V Southwell who was head of the Engineering School at that time.   
> See http://www.soue.org.uk/souenews/issue3/eng1930s.html and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_V._Southwell.  
> The latter mentions that Southwell was a Fellow of Brasenose. He was also involved with the Air Ministry which seemed an appropriate link. In 'Fifty Ships' we learn that Andrew was at the same college that Howard Paige, who was a Rhodes scholar, attended and since Brasenose accepts Rhodes scholars that's the one I went for.


End file.
